


Goodnight, Sleep Tight

by gayreclinetime



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: (again only kind of), (kind of), Fluff, Insomnia, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 06:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12227781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayreclinetime/pseuds/gayreclinetime
Summary: What did alert him to the problem was when Dakota had stilled in the middle of his lunch, fallen asleep halfway through, grilled cheese still in his hands.





	Goodnight, Sleep Tight

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this on an agonizingly long car ride in my notes, which is where i'm uploading it from. maybe one day i'll go back and format it properly.

Dakota was usually pretty lethargic,  
though he got to thinking and moving on his feet when he needed to. So at first Cavendish hadn't thought much of it; the vague, mellow answers, the way his feet were dragging along, the trailing off in his voice. What did alert him to the problem was when Dakota had stilled in the middle of his lunch, fallen asleep halfway through, grilled cheese still in his hands. A little bit of bread was hanging out by the corner of his lip.

"Dakota," Cavendish had started with the intention of scolding him for chewing with his mouth open again. "Dakota?" He started snapping in front of his face. "Get up."

"Huh-" Dakota grunted, starting up. "I'm awake."  
"Goodness gracious, are you too tired to eat? What's gotten into you?"  
"It's nothin'," Dakota said. "Just been kind of tired lately."  
"Well, how much sleep did you get last night?"  
"Two hours."  
"Two hours?"  
"Over the last three days, yeah." Dakota groggily started on his sandwich again. "But it's no big deal."  
"I'll say it's not!" Cavendish scoffed. "What if we're in the middle of a mission? You can't just go passing out. What on Earth has been keeping you up so late?"

"I have a bit of insomnia," Dakota admitted. "It's usually not so bad, though. I can kind of work around it, but, I dunno." He shrugged. "It's been really acting up lately."

"I see." Cavendish set his own lunch down, squared his shoulders as he usually did when he was about to tackle a challenge. "Then I'll just have to come over and make sure you can get some rest."

"You really don't have to-"

"Mark my words, Dakota!" Cavendish declared, ignoring him. "You will have the best night of sleep in your life!"

 

So it was then decided that Cavendish would come over to the modest room Dakota had rented out for the meantime, around 8 pm, determined to get Dakota to sleep no later than 10. He'd certainly given the place his own touches; the tackiest rug Cavendish had ever seen was the first thing he was greeted with, after he'd fought his way through the blasted bead curtain Dakota had set up. That lamp they'd found from all the way back was up as well, casting soft yellow light along the room.  
Dakota himself lounging around in his boxers and undershirt, supposing those were his night clothes.

"Are those even clean?" Cavendish asked.  
Dakota shrugged. "Clean enough."  
Cavendish scrunched up his nose in mild disgust, but left it alone. "Have you already gotten ready for bed? Or  
do you have some kind of routine you need to start?"  
"Uh, yeah. You're lookin' at it."  
"Alright, then. Off with you," Cavendish gestured away. "Into bed."  
"Bossy," Dakota teased, but crawled into bed no less. He spent sometime settling under the covers, nestling into an overtly ridiculous amount of pillows, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. A few minutes ticked by.

"You know I- I can't really do this when you're watching me." He said.

"Ah. Yes, that makes sense." Cavendish looked around for something to convincingly distract himself with, and found a copy of one of the obnoxious newspaper comics Dakota read that was lying around.

He waited longer then, occasionally hearing Dakota rustle around in bed, until finally he could hear him muffled, groaning face down into his pillow.

"This isn't working. I can't sleep."  
"You're not even trying!"  
"Yes I am! I'm really tired, I swear." Dakota rolled back over. "It's just. Not working."  
"Hm," Cavendish tapped his chins. "Well. Anything you think might help?"

Dakota thought it over for a moment. "Warm milk? That's supposed to help, right?"

So Cavendish fished out a cup, a bottle of honey, and a jug of milk from Dakota's measly kitchenette. He had to admit he kept it well stocked for such a small place; he even found a small bit of cinnamon, which he added to the mixture and then nuked in Dakota's microwave.  
Dakota finished off the cup and signed, falling back into bed. "Oh, yeah," He said. "I can feel it working."  
But it didn't, and yet again Dakota was tossing and turning until he sat back up.

"Maybe a story," He suggested.

Cavendish sighed, but obliged nonetheless, a recited from (somewhat, sort of accurate) memory the tale of King Henry. Dakota wanted to poke at all the holes in the story's plot, but settled himself down when Cavendish threatened to withhold the ending. He gave Cavendish a fair critique ("You could have done the voices"), and then closed his eyes and went to sleep.  
Except he didn't, because yet again, he couldn't.

"What else could we possibly do!" Cavendish was getting frustrated, admittedly less with Dakota and more with his own failure to fix the situation, or even change it.  
"Well, there's one more thing we could try." Dakota scooted over,  
patted the space on the bed next to him. Cavendish gave him an incredulous look. "Oh- no, okay, listen, that was for your benefit. So you can get comfortable."  
"For what?"  
"Sometimes- I dunno, sometimes talking back and forth for a while helps, you know? Like a two-way noise machine."  
Cavendish wasn't completely following. "Talking about what?"  
"I dunno, anything. Movies, places-  
like, why is New Jersey called 'New' Jersey? Why isn't it just 'Jersey?' I mean, just whatever you can talk about."

Cavendish supposed as a last resort it wasn't anything he couldn't do, so he took off his hat, tie, vest and overcoat, and lastly his shoes and socks. He pulled back the corner of the covers and slid next to Dakota, laid his head back, and tried to relax.

"So," He tried to start. "Why do you think your insomnia's been worse?"  
"Dunno." Dakota seemed to be looking for a real answer. "The other night I kept waking up in the middle of the night a lot. I think it might be cuz of some nightmares?"  
"You're having nightmares?" It would make sense that that was what was keeping Dakota up, if it even made sense that he was having nightmares in the first place.  
"Yeah. A lot of the time they're pretty normal, like- showing up back to class in your birthday suit. Sometimes it's about spiders," Dakota shivered. "Ugh, spiders. I know they're helpful and everything, but- why do they have to look like that."  
"And there are not normal ones?"  
Dakota was quiet for a moment, like he was debating with himself whether or not he should tell. "Yeah, uh. I guess they'd be normal for us- I mean our line of work. Like, what if something bad happens that we.. just  
can't go back and undo," He folded his hands behind his head. "Like if one of us got hurt and it didn't matter if we tried to fix it. I dunno, normally I wouldn't sweat something like that. I guess in dreams that doesn't matter."  
"No, I think I see your concern. We've cut it awfully close a few times, haven't we?" Dakota cracked a smile and let out a huff of a laugh. "But I wouldn't let it kept you up. That's why there's two of us, isn't it? One to look after the other."  
"Awh, you're looking out for me?"  
"It's in the best interest of the team dynamic," Cavendish cleared his throat. "And besides, we already saved the world once. So we can't be all rubbish. Can we?"  
"Nah," Dakota agreed. "You're right. We don't make a half bad team."  
"No, not half bad."

The rest of the evening carried on with idle chatter. Cavendish was somehow goaded into admitting his past career as a concert pianist, though he swore he couldn't remember what Dakota had said to convince him to say as much. Dakota insisted he would have to play him a song sometime, and better yet they should quit the time traveling business all together and start up some kind of musical duo.  
Dakota in turn told him what drew him to learning so many instruments at once. It was something about his philosophy, living life to the fullest. He had wanted to learn the clarinet, and then the harmonica, and so and so on, so he did. It was admirable, if almost naively optimistic, though he didn't say as much outloud. And in no time at Cavendish's lids were heavy and both of them were yawning every other word.

"Mission accomplished," Cavendish mumbled. "I should let you to it."  
"Come on, you're half asleep too. You can stay here if you want."  
"I wouldn't want to intrude."  
"Don't be ridiculous," Dakota yawned. "No point in you heading back out. Just don't hog the covers."  
"Alright," Cavendish shifted minutely, determined to keep his promise, if at least in the beginning. "Goodnight, Dakota."  
"'Night Cavendish."


End file.
